Author's note- Sorry for the lack of updates, I've had a rubbish few weeks. But it's the summer holidays so hopefully I will update regularly again. Thanks for the support! You have no idea how much it means to me.

This chapter focuses a lot more on the self harm, as I wanted to focus on it more- so it could be triggering! But don't worry; I know where this story is going. Oh, and I take small suggestions if anyone has any. Nothing plot changing- but I do suggestions- so PM me if you have any.

Disclaimer- I own nothing.

Chapter 9

Never before did Sherlock or John think that they'd be this affected by what they saw- and this was coming from those who worked with dead and ill people. Maybe it was because they actually witnessed it happening, and to none other than a friend. But either way, it was truly heartbreaking to see.

As soon as the door had been thrown wide open, the shocked teenager quickly scrambled to hide the blade, the bloodied tissues, and her freshly cut arm. To the doctor's eyes, it wasn't too bad- the cuts weren't deep and she didn't have the time to do it too much... thankfully. Sherlock froze, unsure what to make of it. Deep down he knew they would find her in this state: crying, depressed, terrified and bleeding. But yet, he really had hoped that his suspicions were to be proved wrong. He watched with analysing eyes as she immediately hid the evidence- John didn't seem to notice this quick movement as soon as they entered the room; but Sherlock didn't miss anything. The blade and tissues went under the second pillow for the time being, and he watched as she shoved the long sleeves of her pyjamas back down to hide to the cuts.

She looked frightened, Sherlock noticed, and perhaps... ashamed. Slowly, he began to approach her, with John not too far behind.

"Shit," she mumbled, barely audible.

"It's alright Lucy," Sherlock said, his voice deep and caring. As he came to her bed, he sat beside her; she refused to look at him. "Lucy look at me." He glanced helplessly at John who gave him a nod of encouragement. Apparently John thought he was handling the situation well, but to tell the truth Sherlock was worried he's say the wrong thing- as usual.

"I'm sorry," Lucy whispered. She didn't really know what to say either, she hadn't expected this to happen and quite frankly she hated it. She hated the fact that they knew she broke the promise she made, and she hated the fact that they had to witness that. Why. Why the hell did she have to be so bloody stupid? "I'm so sorry," she repeated, burying her face in her hands.

"Lucy, look at me," Sherlock tentatively took her hands and held them in his; forcing her to turn her head to look at him with tear filled eyes. Sherlock took a deep breath through his nose, stroking his thumb over her small hands before saying: "Its okay Lucy, it really is okay." She just shook her head as John decided to sit the other side of her. The tears of humiliation, sadness and ashamedness continued to fall down her pale cheeks no matter how many times she tried to brush them away- willing them to stop. Sherlock, while still keeping his right hand clutching hers, wrapped his left arm around her shoulder. He'd never done this before, never tried to understand the emotions or let himself get caught in them; but he couldn't help it. Lucy was different, and she needed someone.

"Why didn't you come talk to us?" John gently asked her.

"I was scared," Lucy whispered, her voice choked, "I didn't want you to be disappointed. I'm sorry!"

"Hey it's okay," John reassured her, "We're not angry or disappointed okay? We're just worried about you."

"I don't think either of us truly expected you to talk to us immediately," Sherlock muttered, his voice deep and soothing.

"Can I have a look at your arm please?" John requested, the doctor side of him kicking in.

"No," she said firmly, "It's fine, honestly. It's not bad at all."

"I still want to clean them to prevent infection," he told her.

"He won't give up," Sherlock said with a smile in his voice, trying to relax the teenager. They were silent for a moment in which John got the first aid kit. When he came back, he gave Lucy a warm smile. The tears had stopped falling by now, and she lifted the corners of her mouth slightly. As he sat to her left side again, he looked at her expectantly. She rolled her eyes subtly and sighed heavily as she thrust her arm at him. With quick precision, John swiftly clean the fresh cuts; he glanced at the bandage from earlier- now bloodied- and decided to remove it before bandaging her arm again.

In the short time it took for him to do this, Sherlock had just let Lucy lay her head in his chest. It seemed to comfort her, he noticed, being in close proximity of someone. Maybe it was because she had no parents, she had been on her own for so long and perhaps she was truly grateful that she now had people who liked her and would look after her. Six months ago her parents had died, she never saw them being killed but she witnessed the aftermath. Sherlock truthfully thought it was strange, but right now it was their daughter who was suffering the most- and both he and John had to make sure that she would be okay. That she would make it through this rough patch alive.

"Done," John announced as he pulled her pyjama sleeve back down.

"Thanks I guess," Lucy replied with a small smile.

"Do you want to talk about it?" John asked softly after a pause.

"No," she shook her head, her voice quiet, "Not now."

"Okay, but remember we are both here if you ever need to talk."

"I know," She smiled, "Thanks."

"Well we better leave you to go to sleep," the doctor stood up.

"I'm going to stay," Sherlock suddenly spoke.

"What?" Both John and Lucy turned to look at him.

"I'm going to stay with you tonight," he told Lucy, his piercing eyes were gentle. She didn't protest, but instead, just nodded in understanding.

"Goodnight Lucy," John murmured. But then he turned to Sherlock, "A word please."

"Night John... thanks." Lucy replied as the consulting detective followed John out of the room.

Once outside the teenager's bedroom, John quietly shut the door and moved away so Lucy couldn't hear. "What are you doing Sherlock?" He asked his friend, with a slight hint of confusion in his voice.

"What do you mean?" The detective looked surprised.

"You're going to stay with Lucy the night," John stated.

"Oh," Sherlock realised. He took a breath before quietly explaining: "I didn't think it would be a good idea to leave her on her own, not in the current state she's in. I know where her blade is, most likely she is now hiding it again, but I didn't want to chance the risk that she would harm herself again. And... She needs us John; more than she realises. Her parents are gone, for months she had no-one. It's our responsibility to look after her. I like her John; my intentions aren't bad I assure you." Throughout Sherlock's little speech, John had been listening carefully.

"I wasn't accusing you." He murmured, "I was just... pleasantly surprised by how genuine you are being. You've never been like this before."

"I know, I can't explain it."

"Maybe it's something called emotion?" John suggested with a grin.

"Don't be stupid John I know it's hard for you but please try. Emotion... what a preposterous thought." Sherlock smiled back; but John couldn't help the bubble of laughter that escaped him.

"Well, I'll see you in the morning," John bid him goodnight as the dark haired man went into his room quickly to get changed.

The room was still dark, but he could see the outline of the young girl lying in the middle of the bed. She was still awake as she glanced up at him as he entered. Sherlock strode over to her, "Shift over," he murmured as he climbed next to her. Lucy noted that he was now wearing pyjama bottoms and a grey t-shirt as he settled himself into a comfortable position.

"You don't have to stay here you know," she told him.

"I know, but I rarely sleep. Besides, I want to make sure you're going to be okay."

"Thanks," She mumbled appreciatively.

"Are you okay?" Sherlock queried.

"I'm fine." Lucy shifted her head on the pillow, "Did you want to get under the covers?" She asked, after all, it wasn't the warmest of nights. He shook his head, but wrapped his arm around her shoulder again. They ended up taking pretty much the same position as the previous night- with Lucy leaning on his chest and with his arm around her.

The room was quiet all apart from the street traffic and the gentle pattern of Lucy's breathing as she dreamed in her slumber. Sherlock was still, his eyes closed but he was perfectly awake. The text he got yesterday said 'Are you ready for the next part of my game?' And yet, he hadn't heard a word. No new bodies found. Nothing. It made him bored; he had hoped for at least one more body to have been found. But no, nothing. How dull. They weren't any closer to catching the killer, as they left no clues to find him. The police still hadn't managed to find the serrated knife, but that didn't mean they wouldn't find it. Not that there would be many if any clues that came with it; the murderer was too clever for that. Ooh it was rather fun wasn't it? Sherlock was getting a good run for his money, but he would not be beaten. All he had to do was wait... not patiently as he couldn't do that... but he could wait. He was getting played with, he was a part of a game, one of which he would win. The killer was taunting him: leaving him little notes at the scene of the crime, texting him on occasion. But what was the motive? And why bring Lucy into it? He had sent a text the other day 'Are you and the girl enjoying my game?' But what did Lucy have to do with this? He frowned, clearly they were being watched. How else would the killer know that she was living with them? That didn't concern Sherlock though, he had worse happen to him- but it bothered him that Lucy was put in significant danger because of this. Not that he would let anything happen to her or John for that matter.

It was a little after midnight when a small beep and vibration brought him out of his thoughts; his eyes flashed open and immediately fell on the phone on the desk. Being careful not to wake Lucy, he reached over to retrieve it. Finally! A single text:

Are you bored? Did you expect to hear from me sooner? All good things come to those who wait though, Sherlock. I think Lucy will like this next move. Enjoy x

Sherlock read the text twice before he put his phone back down. Glancing at the sleeping girl on his chest, he sighed slightly. He wondered what was next in store for them, but he knew that whatever it was, it was going to put both of their lives in even more danger. Not a moment after he put the phone down, did it vibrate again and beep. With a confused expression, he picked it up again and opened the text. But it was different; this one was a picture... He clicked download and waited a second before opening the file. The photo had been taken during the daytime, and it was a picture of a street in London. At the time it was taken there were no people around, so it looked very peaceful and quiet. The houses that lined the street were two stories high and rather large- with big driveways. They looked expensive. Sherlock knew where these houses were, but why would the murderer give him a clue? With caution, he went to send a text in reply, voicing his question:

Why give me a clue? –SH

He waited a beat for a reply, and he was not disappointed:

Even I get bored.